The Lovely Trail

As lungs are sore,
eyes swollen
from crying
as the melancholy
bombards,
no batting down
the hatches on
dispatches
from the other side…
this ain’t lovely,
the bubbling
of cauldron
that is grief…
no relief
for those left behind
on their journey…
we may buckle,
but ultimately
we will convert it
into power,
and get up…
on them stirrups
and ride em’….
because we
are glorious
and victorious,
swag of the highest sort,
like your big bro said..
together again,
as for us
who remain
we don’t languish…
we shine brightly –
words for Auntie…
until we meet
again.

Words tendered against ambient sound, while wandering the Earth:

A reading of the Lovely Trail

Published by Shun P. Writes

Author, Genealogist, Writer, Poet, Podcast Host, possessor of 2 cents, Blogger and eternal student of life, who harbors a firm belief in his Grandmother's mantra that: "People need to get off of their rump and do something". All while keeping in mind that a cheering section will often get in the way. View all posts by Shun P. Writes